


The Newborn

by rougefox



Series: The Four Redheads Sandor Clegane Kissed [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Pups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rougefox/pseuds/rougefox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stupid fluffy tale of Sansa and Sandor as they find their way from the Vale to Winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So much stupid pup fluffiness, at times I could barely stand it myself. Some OOC for everyone involved.  
> This is the last in the series.
> 
> I have no beta, so read at own risk.

Sandor never asked Sansa about her scars. Even that first horrible year at the Gates of the Moon where she would sometimes wake up shaking and weeping. When Harry was gone and they lay together, she would beg him upon waking to hold her till she fell back asleep. When Harry was at home Sansa would curl up in a blanket by the door after her husband had fallen asleep. She told Sandor that sometimes hearing the clink of his armor as he shifted his weight during guard duty was enough to help her sleep.

 

One night Sansa had a nightmare so bad she awoke in a hysterical fit and he had to fetch the Maester. The old man pulled Sandor aside after knocking her out with sweet sleep and reported that it was all Littlefinger’s fault.

 

“Lady Alyane would come to me for salves and sometimes milk of the poppy,” The Maester whispered with anger in his voice. “She wouldn't tell me why, but the things we suspected Lord Baelish was doing to her… Had he not been found guilty of the murder of Lady Arryn and poor Sweet Robin, the Septon and I were going to write to Kingslanding to put him in front of the Faith Militant. They would have surely executed him for such a grievous sin against his own daughter.”

 

Sandor had swallowed his anger and thanked the Maester for his service. Littlefinger was as dead as Gregor and the Elder brother had taught him nothing good would come from wasting time hating dead men.

 

He still had nights were he had to battle his terrors for sleep and it killed him a inside to see his little bird thus. Luckily over time her nightmares receded in intensity and frequency, till they became a rare occurrence.

 

As well as Sansa was at playing Alyane , she was even better at running the Vale. Sandor, ever the loyal dog, followed her as she went from meetings with the Lords Declarant, to councils with advisors, to holding audiences with the small folk. It appeared that her competence as a leader and the love the small folk had for her was the reason everyone turned a blind eye to her painfully obvious relationship with her sworn shield.

 

Except for Miranda Royce. Sansa's dearest friend and confidant had no shame in making innocently dirty comments about her Lady friend’s new protector. Randa always unnerved Sandor. The first time she met him, she had spent more time studying his crotch than his face. She also always gave him a very knowing look first thing in the morning and chortled at his obvious discomfort.

 

As the months wore on, the apparent tolerance for their affair led to carelessness. More than once Sandor had over slept and had been awaken by the maids coming in to dress Lady Hardyng for the day. They pretended he wasn’t there and focused on Sansa who had the good sense not to call attention to their slip up. Once one of the elder and more observant maids brought enough food for both of them to break their fast, then wished him good morning before excusing herself.

 

Harry was useless, rarely doing anything past riding out to engage with the Wildings that raided towns in the Mountains of the Moon. Sandor had only spoken to the man twice; once when he had arrived after the Elder Brother had given him leave, ( and promised to write to Kingslanding to secure Sandor’s official pardon ) and then once by chance in the stables after Sandor and Sansa had returned from riding. The first time Harry had regarded him with disinterest as Sansa explained Sandor was an old ally of her "father" from Kingslanding and she wanted him as her sworn shield. Harry had simply told her to do what she felt she should, and then left to go drinking with his men-at-arms.

 

The second time they spoke Harry had appeared suddenly in the next horse stall leaning over the half wall divider as Sandor rubbed down Stranger.

 

“She’s barren,” Hardying told him. “We’ve been married a year and she’s never once conceived. I have three bastards with my mistress, so it’s not me.”

 

Sandor stared at him incredulous, “Why are you telling me this?”

 

Harry, like so many others talked to a space three inches to the right of Sandor’s head to avoid looking at his face.

 

“Just thought you should know that’s the reason I don’t care that you sneak into my wife’s chambers when I am away. You won’t get her with child."

 

Then he was gone.

 

***

 

“I’m not barren,” Sansa told him when Sandor told her about the conversation after dinner that night.

 

“The first year we were married I drank moon tea to ruin Petyr’s plans,” she said and Sandor didn’t press for details.

 

“Are you still drinking it?” he asked. He had been at the Gates of the Moon for almost a year and her moonblood was never late.

 

“Yes,” she admitted. “I could stop if you want me to, but that would mean laying with Harry at least once if you got me with child.”

 

Sandor had never considered having children. The idea was as alien as riding back to the Westerlands to claim his family's lands and become _Lord_ Clegane.

 

He didn’t like the idea of his little bird lying under another man, but he knew if she got the idea in her head, he couldn't stop her.

 

“It’s your choice” he said as he unlaced her gown then kissed the exposed skin as he pulled it down over her shoulders.

 

Sansa sighed and leaned into his embrace. “I could get him drunk and make him think he bed me, I've done it before, it's almost too easy.” She gasped as Sandor pulled her dress to her waist. He cupped her exposed breasts and gently nipped her neck. He hated having to share her, it made him wanted to bite her and dig his hands into her flesh till he left bruises. He wanted to fuck her so hard she couldn’t walk properly for days. He wanted to mark her so Harry would know she wasn’t his.

 

“Enough about Harry,” she declared as her dress fell past her hips and onto the floor.

 

“Yes, my Lady,” he growled in her ear.

 

“Enough talk,” she commanded and shoved him on the bed. “Take off your clothes.”

 

Sandor did as his Lady commanded, as he always did.

 

***

 

Sansa’s choice became obvious in the following months. Harry was out hunting when her time came and Sandor had insisted on being with her.

 

“And which one of you is going to remove me?” he had snarled at the midwife who told him the birthing room was no place for a man, especially one that wasn’t the Lady’s husband.

 

It had been the most painful and disgusting thing he had ever seen. When he was Cersei’s dog, he had stood guard outside the door as Joffrey was born. He blocked out the screams and was surprised when the Kingslayer emerged and asked Sandor if he wanted to go get shitfaced drunk. (He had replied, “Only if you’re paying Lannister.")

 

Sansa screamed and cursed at him, using words he didn’t know she knew. She squeezed his hand till his fingertips went numb and blew out air like a horse after a hard ride.

 

In the end there was blood, so much blood and a wailing, red slimy boy with red hair that Sansa declared the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

 

After the midwives and Maester had left, Sansa showed him how to hold the tiny creature. He was so delicate and fragile, Sandor was sure he was going to break him.

 

She asked if was okay to name him Robb and Sandor had shrugged. He claimed there was no one in his family he cared enough about to name his son after.

 

Once she was asleep, Sandor sought out the stable master, Lemmy. Sandor liked Lemmy because he truly didn't give a shit about anything other horses and drinking a thick, sticky liquor he brewed himself. He also didn’t care about repeatedly catching Sandor and Sansa fooling around in the hay loft. 

 

Sandor had quit drinking when he joined the Brotherhood, but figured he could indulge just this once.

 

“It only gets worse from here,” Lemmy told him as they sat on bales of hay passing a clay jar of Lemmy’s latest batch back and forth. “Babies are worse than sweets to women. Once they have one, they just want more. And babies aren't like foals, they’re completely helpless.”

 

Lemmy was the ugliest man Sandor had ever seen outside his own reflection in the mirror. His face was covered in large pale moles. He sported a horseshoe mustache and had a head full of long, lank black hair. Somehow he had a wife and had fathered six girls.

 

“Be thankful it's a boy,” Lemmy warned wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the jar to Sandor. “Boys are easy. No one gives a shit if they're dirty or cussing or running around with their arses hanging out their breeches. All you got to teach a boy is to keep your shield up, pull out and how to ride without slapping your balls against the saddle.”

 

Sandor laughed and took a small sip before handing the jar back.

 

“Pray the next one isn't a girl,” Lemmy said ominously. “Mothers take care of them pretty well till they flower and get teats then….” Lemmy eyed him over the jar.

 

”Let’s just say, it's okay to gut a man in battle, but it's looked down upon if you gut the little peckerhead sneaking into your daughter's bedroom at night.” He drank deep and handed the jar to Sandor.

 

“They'll never thank you, you know,”Lemmy said with a far away look.” You kick that peckerhead out of their room to defend their honor and they'll scream at you that you ruined their life.”

 

He sighed.

 

“Pray for boys.”

 

A year later when Sansa told him she was with child again, Sandor knelt in front of the statue of the Mother for the first time since the Quiet Isle.

 

Whether it was praying or luck, another little boy came screaming into the world while Harry was out drinking. Sansa once again handed him a son and asked him to pick a name. When he declined again, she chose Ned.

 

Within a year Harry Hardyng was put to rest after a deadly skirmish with the Hill tribes. The Septon presiding over the funeral wove a tale of Harry’s dedication to his land and wife. It was declared that Lord Hardying had died a noble death and had tragically left a beautiful young widow and two sons.

 

Sansa as Aylane dressed in black, holding the hands of Sandor's sons, met with well-wishers and people of note. Sandor found the whole event boring and tedious. In his opinion it had only been a matter of time before Harry got an axe to the back. Sandor had watched him in the training yard, and while he would never be back to the level he was before he injured his leg, Harry was sloppy and over confident.

 

Sandor leaned against the wall and watched his sons squirm in boredom as Sansa tried to look contrite and sorrowful. After all the mourners had dispersed, she dismissed him to put the boys to bed while she met with the Lords Declarant to discuss the future of the Vale. Sandor scooped up his sons and carried them to the nursery grinding his teeth. He knew one of the topics would be Alyane's remarriage after a proper period of mourning.

 

He slammed the door to the nursery open harder than he meant to and spent the next few minutes calming down a startled year old Ned. Behind him Robb began yanking on his cloak and pointed to the wardrobe. Sandor saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned drawing his sword as he ordered his sons to get under the bed.

 

“This makes us even,” said a voice from his past and Arya Stark stepped out of the shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Sansa finally return for Rickon's wedding. Arya gets what she wants in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally meant for these to be short one shots, but this one has gotten long. This one got a tad bit more complex than I imagined but whatever, hope you all enjoy!

“How the fuck did you get in here?” Sandor snarled at the wolf-bitch in the corner.

 

Arya slyly smiled and crossed her arms. She was taller than he remembered, but then again she was 12 the last time he saw her. Her dark hair had grown out from the lopsided hair cut he had given her on the way to the Red Wedding and hung in a thick braid down her back. Still never one to dress like a girl, she wore a grey tunic over black breeches and leather boots.

 

“I’ve been here about a month,” she replied. “When I heard you were alive and playing dog to the Lady of the Vale, I had to see it for myself. I didn’t realize it was my sister who held your leash; although I should have guessed as you wouldn’t shut up about her while you drug me around the Riverlands.”

 

Arya crouched down and beckoned to the little boys under the bed. “And I see you two have been busy,” she said.

 

“Bugger off wolf-bitch,” he growled at her as she straightened up.

 

“I’ll meet them later,” she said simply and walked to the door.

 

“When you get them to sleep, come meet me for a drink in the kitchens.”

 

“I don’t drink anymore.”

 

“Then just watch me.” Then she vanished into the hallway.

 

***

 

It took forever to get the boys to sleep after all the excitement. Sandor wanted to stay the night outside their door, but knew keeping Arya Stark waiting would make her venture back up to the nursery and he wasn’t going to deal with her waking his sons up again.

 

She was sitting at one of the servant tables when he entered.

 

She was relaxed, leaning back in her chair with her feet propped up on the table top.

 

“Your sister would have a fit if she saw you with your boots on the table,” he remarked.

 

Arya took a sip of cider and smiled into the hearth. “Some things never change.”

 

She gestured to the seat across from her. Sandor didn’t sit.

 

“Why are you here?” he rasped at her.

 

“I owed you a debt and now I’ve repaid it.”

 

“For what? Are you trying to atone for leaving me under a tree to die?”

 

“No, for keeping me with you after it became painfully obvious no one was going to give you shit for me,” she smiled at him. Arya Stark never had a problem looking him in the face, she was never afraid of him like Sansa used to be.

 

“I’ve been with Jon the past year, helping him rebuilt Winterfell with Rickon. I got to see what happened to the poor bitch the Lannisters gave to the Boltons telling them she was me. It made me think about how close I came to being that girl. If I had been captured by Lannister forces, or dragged back to Harrenhall by those fucks at the Inn, it would be me they would have handed to Ramsey Snow. If Beric Dondarrien actually took me to Riverrun I would have died at the Red Wedding. So unintentionally, and even though I hated your presence every damn day, I survived because you were too fucking stubborn to let me wander off. “

 

She lifted her mug to him in a toast then drank.

 

“So I killed my sister’s idiot husband for you,” she said and then reaffirmed that she was still the little Lady she had been when they traveled together by burping loudly.

 

“So what's with this Alyane Hardying shit?” Arya asked refilling her mug.

 

Sandor relented and sat across from her.

 

“Your sister was taken from Kingslanding by Petyr Baelish. He told everyone she was his bastard, and then he tried to use her to get Winterfell. She outwitted him and set him up for execution after he killed your aunt and cousin.”

 

Arya shrugged, “I really don't remember him. Is that why her hair is brown?”

 

He nodded.

 

“It’s an awful color, I hate it," Arya declared.

 

Sandor chuckled. “So she's been hiding up here while the rest of us fought for Winterfell,” she spat.

 

Sandor snapped back, “She sent troops and supplies. From what I hear, the Vale army turned the tide of the war with the Boltons and then stayed to keep the Others at bay before your bastard brother got the Dragon Queen to burn them all away.”

 

“But she didn't come,” Arya snarled.“We froze and fought and bled and starved and she was up in her mountain top castle warm and fed and fucking you.”

 

“Why would she go wolf-bitch?” Sandor remembered the conflict Sansa had dealt with when the raven came from the Onion Knight declaring Rickon’s return and a plea for resources. “As Alyane Hardyng she has no ties to Winterfell and is no threat to your little brother’s claim. Remember she was married to a Lannister. Do you think for one second your brother's banner men would want a Lannister near Winterfell?”

 

Arya glowered at him.

 

He remembered Sansa working as much as she could to help her family without giving herself away. She called in debt, she asked for volunteers and she raised taxes on the ports. He had a stood behind Sansa for every meeting, rode next to her to every visit to a neighboring lord and had stayed up with her as she worked into the small hours drafting letters and going through reports. She would have made a good Queen, but he was thankful he would never have to stand outside a door and hear Joffrey fuck her.

 

“And while you and Jon Snow played Come into My Castle, your sister was dealing with refugees from the fucking hell storm caused by those horsemen the Dragon Queen let loose on the Riverlands,” he growled at her threw clinched teeth. “Your sister paid for villages to be built by cutting everything to the bone in her “mountain top castle”. She even sold your aunts jewels to pay for building material and got the Ladies of the Vale to stitch clothes for the refugees. She even cut up those pretty dresses she loved so much to make sure there was enough fabric.”

 

Arya sneered at him and Sandor felt foolish for his outburst. Of course she knew all this. If she had been slinking around the castle for the last month, she would have known; Lady Alyane’s generosity was legendary amongst the small folk and Lords alike.

 

“You really love her don’t you, dog?”

 

Sandor thought about knocking the smug look off her face. He would never do it, but the thought was there just the same.

 

“You killing Harry won’t help anything,” he rasped at her. “She's just going to have to remarry to some other high bred wanker and this time he won't look the other way like Harry did.”

 

Arya sat up and put her feet on the ground.

 

Leaning in she said, “I've been down to Kingslanding with Jon, Tyrion's back.”

 

Sansa had heard the rumors but refused to let herself be known to Tyrion. It was easier to remain Alayne with a husband who ignored her and banner men who displayed willful ignorance in regards to her private life to keep the peace.

 

“Write to Kingslanding and ask Tyrion to get the Queen to grant an annulment. But first come to Rickon’s wedding.”

 

“She won't go, he replied evenly. “She still thinks she's a threat to his claim.”

 

Sansa had wept quietly over the wedding invitation when it arrived.

 

“With Harry gone, she's not,” Arya smiled like a fox who has found the chicken coop door open. “As Sansa she has no claim to the Vale. Tyrion’s Hand of the Queen, he doesn’t want her and he said they never fucked. So if she’s not married or Alayne and her children are bastards, she has a flimsy claim to Winterfell and none to the Vale. She should come home.”

 

Sandor stared at her.

 

The fucking wolf-bitch knew exactly what she was doing.

 

_Clever girl._

 

“See, Harry’s death is a good thing!” Arya got up, walked to his side and sat on the table in front of him.

 

“I need a favor.”

 

“You said you just paid me a favor.”Sandor eyed her suspiciously.

 

“I need another one.”

 

“Maybe, what do you need?”

 

“Horses, two of them. Sturdy and not afraid of wolves. “

 

“Why?”

 

“I'm going to the Riverlands. I left a couple of precious things there when I was young and now I'm going to get them back.”

 

“The Riverlands are full of Dothraki, wolf-bitch. You’ll never make it pass Harrenhall.”

 

Arya laughed. “I’ve killed worse than them. I just have to make it to the Inn at the Crossroads.”

 

Sandor studied her face. He wondered if all the children who spent long amounts of time around him became mentally disturbed and blood thirsty.

 

“Go down to the stables in the morning and speak to Lemmy,” he said finally. “Don't ask anyone else, tell him I sent you and he will give you what you need.”

 

“Thank you,” Arya said stood up to walk out the door. “One other thing,” she said turning. “I want to spend tonight with my sister, so you and your cock go sleep somewhere else.”

 

***

 

Arya’s arrival had lifted Sansa’s spirits, but she would not concede to go back North.

 

While Sandor found it irritating that he was shoved out of Sansa’s room at night by her sister, he did agree that it was time to leave the Vale. With Harry gone, things would become complex and he resolved he was not going to let Sansa fake her way through another marriage. When Arya left, he picked up where she left off in trying to convince Sansa it was time to go.

 

“You haven't seen your brother since you left for Kingslanding back when you were _twelve_. You hate it here, you tell me all the time you hear things in the night and your nightmares are back. Let's go see your family. I've been exonerated, the Others have been eradicated, you can wash that shite out of your hair and be Sansa Stark to everyone.”

 

When she finally acquiesced he felt lighter than he had in months.

 

***

 

They sailed into White Harbor and joined the Manderlys and Mormonts heading east. The last time he was this far North Sandor was still Joffrey’s dog and had not held a terribly high opinion of the land. At first he and the locals were wary of each other, but as days were spent riding together and nights around fires they warmed up. Northerns, especially the Wildlings, were a straightforward bunch who didn't mince words and held a man to his honor. Arguments that would have required a diplomatic silver tongue at Kingslanding were settled with a fist fight that broke up when one man went down and the other dragged away being chewed out by his wife. Everyone was in good spirits when they arrived at Winterfell.

 

Rickon hardly remembered Sandor’s last visit and held no ill will towards him.

 

“Just because you were raised under the same roof, doesn't mean you are like your brother,” the young King of the North told him. “Theon Greyjoy grew up under the same roof I did and I would never kill little children.”

 

It seemed to settle the matter of Joffrey’s dog and no more was said about him. ( At least not to his face. )

 

Rickon had been elated to see his sister. He also hated her hair and the fact she was still pretending to be Alayne ( a sentiment Sandor shared). Sansa told him she was still wary. Even when the young King in The North got up on a table at dinner and proclaimed his sister’s marriage to Tyrion Lannister void north of the Neck and Sansa could “do whatever the fuck she wanted with her life” by royal decree, she refused to make herself known. Everyone in attendance had no idea his eldest sister was in attendance but cheered and laughed all the same. The moment passed when Arya Stark made a dramatic entrance flanked by her fully grown direwolf and a man who was the spitting image of Renly Baratheon.

 

The wedding ceremony was a simple one in front of the great heart tree in the godswood. Judging from the waistline on dress Rickon’s wildling bride wore, the wedding was a few months late in coming.

 

Later at the fest Tormund Giantsbane stopped talking about his cock long enough to explain to the table what had transpired. “Rickon was raised by the Wildings on the island of Skagos,” he said between sips of ale. “See, we free folk don't do cloaks or holy places or any of that Southern shit. Our way is that you find a girl you like and she likes you so you throw her across your horse and take off. Hopefully her father doesn't shoot an arrow through your neck and just visits when the children are born!”

 

Sandor laughed with the rest of the table.

 

“That's what the young King did,” Tormund continued after belching loudly. “About six months ago, after Winterfell was rebuilt, he rode back to Skagos. He's known Ayla since they were children, so he just rode up, tossed her onto his horse and didn't stop riding till he was safely behind the walls!”

 

Everyone laughed and toasted the happy couple.

 

Sansa spent most of the feast drinking heavily and talking with other lords that had traveled from outside the North. The whole scene irritated Sandor to no end; they had made this trip to get away from all the bullshit in the after math of Harry’s death. Now instead of the Lords of the Vale, any man with a title was buzzing around to see if they could taste the Hardyng widow’s honey.

 

Sandor spent the feast sober, so when Sansa came to him after the bedding ceremony his first instinct was to salvage his wounded pride by rebuffing her drunken advances upon returning to their rooms.

 

“You've been drinking and dancing with all those little lords trying to get in your small clothes and into your claim. Aren't you sick of all that shit?” he snapped at her.

 

Sansa made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded like a growl. Before he knew it she had her arms around his neck and pulled herself up to kiss him. Then she bit him where his neck met his shoulder, _really hard._

 

“Fucking wolf bitch!” he snarled at her and shoved her away.

 

She came at him again, ripping his tunic at the neck. He pinned her against the wall by her shoulders. She snaked her hand down to tug at the laces of his breeches.

 

“I want you to fuck me as hard as you want,” she whispered. “I want you to bite me and bruise me and leave your mark on me so everyone knows who I belong to.”

 

“Little bird…”

 

“I'm not a little bird,” she smiled undoing the laces of his breeches and stroking his cock. “I am a wolf-bitch. Now fuck me against this wall before I show you what wolves do to dogs.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! This one is as fluffy and sweet as a baby chick sitting on a Pomeranian in the factory that makes the nougat centers of Milky Way bars.
> 
> You've been warned.

The next morning Sansa was too hungover to break her fast so Sandor went to the great hall alone. There were still revelers sleeping in corners, tables littered with clay jars and pewter wine cups. Dogs were happily feasting on forgotten meal scraps under the tables. Among all this mess he found Arya happily shoveling down bacon and drinking dark beer.

 

“Good morning she wolf,” he said setting on a bench across from her. “Where is your blacksmith?”

 

“Sleeping it off if he's done puking,” she replied with a mouth full of food. “He tried to hold his own drinking with the Thenns last night.”

 

“You seem fine,” he said waving at a servant for some food.

 

“I have a lot more experience than him,” she grinned at him.

 

“Speaking of experience," she continued after a healthy drink of beer," I had one last night hearing you fuck my sister through stone walls. I'm impressed."

 

Sandor shrugged, “Maybe you should have taken notes for your blacksmith.”

 

Arya rolled her eyes, “It's too bad she insists on returning to the Vale, she's the happiest I ever seen her since we left for Kingslanding.”

 

Arya regarded him with what could be pity in her eyes. She was the one who desperately thought she could convince Sansa she needed to stay in Winterfell.

 

“I tried, Clegane, you know I did.”

 

He waved her words away,” I have no intention of spending the rest of my life stuck up in that mountain top castle watching someone else play husband to Sansa and father to my pups. So I am call in that favor you owe me.”

 

Arya’s face lit up with a mischievous smile, “Name it.”

 

***

 

Stranger was saddled and packed by mid afternoon. Arya and her blacksmith were already in place and Rickon had laughed then gave his blessing when Sandor had told him his intention. By then Sansa had risen and pulled herself together enough to be Alayne. He found her walking in the castle yard while talking with one of the Manderlys. Sandor scowled at the man as he walked his horse up behind them and listening to their conversation.

 

“Yes, my lord, the Vale’s crops were spared from the war. However the Hill tribes have become quite a problem."

 

The lord smiled, “If my lady would be so gracious to host myself and my men then I'm sure we could come to some sort of…”

 

Sansa let out a squeal as Sandor took her around the waist and tossed her across the saddle like a sack of grain.

 

“Bugger off Manderly, this one is mine,” he growled mounting up behind her.

 

Sandor could hear the laughter and cheering from the Wildlings as he rode through the yard. Arya and her blacksmith had the children up on the wall.

 

“Wave to Mummy and Daddy,” Arya told Robb as they rode through gates. Ned waved to them from his perch on Gendry’s large shoulders.

 

“Sandor, what in the seven hells are you doing?” Sansa hissed at him.

 

“Stealing you, little bird,” he smiled at her. “You’re mine now.”

 

***

 

They got as far as the Inn in Wintertown and consummated their Wildling marriage to the annoyance of the guests in the next room.

 

Later that evening Sansa requested a bath be brought up to the room before dinner. Sandor reclined on the bed watching her scrub the brown from her hair.

 

“I'm writing the Lords Declarant tomorrow,” she said wringing out the last of the dirty water. “I'm going to inform them that Alayne Hardyng is not coming back and they can choose whomever they want to replace me.”

 

“So Alayne Hardyng is dead?” Sandor asked hoping he would never have to hear that name again.

 

“Alayne Hardyng never existed,” she stated simply. “It's always just been Sansa Stark, just hiding from the world.”

 

She sat by the fire, braiding her hair. Her breasts had stayed swollen after her last pregnancy; there were still stretch marks on her belly and thighs from carrying the babes. Her face was still beautiful, but she had lines under eyes from too many sleepless nights. To him she as perfect as she was as a young maiden when he caught her on Serpentine Steps all those years ago. _I should have taken her then, strapped her to Stanger and taken her to Pentos or Braavos to wait out the war._

 

 Sandor watched her braid her red hair by the fire, he had missed that color.

 

“We could have a proper wedding with cloaks in front of one of those trees when we get back,” he offered.

 

Sansa smiled at him and shook her head, “ I've already had two proper weddings and they did not yield happy marriages.”

 

She climbed in bed next to him and pressed her body against his. “You stole me fair and square.” She kissed him.

 

“So how long do I have to stay stolen to make it official?”

 

“Tormund mentioned a year, but your sister said she'd watch the pups for two nights.” He pulled her close.

 

***

 

Unsurprisingly Rickon’s education on the island of Skagos hadn't prepared him for running a castle, or dealing with the more tedious parts of being King in the North. When Sansa asked to stay, he gratefully took her on as an advisor and told Sandor to find something to do and he would create a title for it.

 

A response to Sansa’s letter arrived from the Vale a week later. Lord Royce had been named acting Lord of the Vale and Miranda sent her love, promising to visit soon.

 

Sansa announced she was with child again soon after and everyone celebrated with a huge feast. Tormund made jokes about how big Sandor's manhood must be and Rickon got so drunk that Sandor had to hold his head out of one of the windows so he wouldn't  be sick on the floor.

 

Five months later Rickon's wife Ayla, gave birth to the first Princess in the North. In celebration, Jon Targaryen visited on the back of his dragon. In addition to the family reunion, Jon brought a large scroll for Sansa.

 

“It's from Tyrion Lannister,” she said showing him the seal and Sandor felt like someone had hit him with the flat of an ax.

 

No matter how much Arya tried to reassure him, he knows the Lannisters do not give up their property easily. Tyrion was Sansa Stark’s legal husband, he could by rights, take everything away from him. Sansa politely excused herself look over the papers.

 

Rickon watched the exchange and whispered to him, “She’s your wife by Northern law. If the Southern lord tries to force her to leave I'll tell him to fuck off myself.”

 

Sandor regarded the young king: he's brash, pigheaded and stupid sometimes, but he’d also fiercely loyal. He accepted Sandor as one of his family to the point he’s willing to kick the Dragon Queen’s Hand right in the balls for him. Sandor was grateful albeit a little apprehensive as to what might transpire.

 

Sansa reemerged from her solar with red rimmed eyes and handed the papers resealed with grey wax back to Jon.

 

“Thank you my cousin for bringing me this news. Please tell the Queen’s Hand that my children, husband and I are all grateful for the decree annulling our forced marriage.”

 

Jon smiled at her and tucked the scroll into his bags.

 

“I will my dear cousin. The Hand also wanted to extend the invitation for your family to visit and meet his wife and children someday.”

 

***

 

Nine months to the day after Rickon’s wedding, Sansa gave birth to another little boy. Sandor, still a tiny bit apprehensive as to what it would be like to raise a girl, had taken to walking in the godswood in the morning to ask the old gods if they could grace him with one more boy. He whispered a silent thank you to the old gods and new as he let his sons hold their baby brother for the first time. Sansa, again asks him for a name and again he leaves it to her, so she names the baby Brandon.

 

 

The years go by quickly. Sandor watched his boys grow up surrounded by laughter and other children.  They learn to keep their shields up and how to ride. He is fiercely proud of them but can see the way Sansa looked with longing at Rickon’s little princesses. He knows she wanted a girl, but they have decided that three boys is enough.

 

At least that is what he thought. The night she told she was with child again three years after their youngest, he said the wrong thing and was forced to sleep in the hay loft for a week. Sansa cried and Sandor apologized and they make up. He laid awake for a fortnight worrying about the babe. He loves his family, he loves his home, but he's not a young man. His leg is stiff in the morning cold and he can tell he has grown fat in places that used to be muscle. His hair had equal amounts of grey and black. Miranda Royce once referred to him as a stallion put out to stud.

 

He spent the first thirty years of his life angry and in pain, drinking, whoring and hating. More than once he had dreamt he had hallucinated these past years and was in reality still dying on the side of the river after watching Arya Stark ride away

 

Every day he wakes up next to little bird, now his wife and sees his children play in the yard is too amazing for him.

 

But he is also apprehensive. He’s three and forty, he knows in the back of his mind that one day he will go with the Stranger and leave his family all too soon. He’s too old to hope to see this baby grow up. He and Sansa both lost their fathers while they were still children (granted both were murdered, his by his brother and hers by Joffrey) he doesn't want to leave his children alone when they are young.

 

Each pregnancy had effected Sansa in different ways; she cried at everything carrying Robb, with Ned she ate so much meat that Sandor once teased her that she was turning into a wolf, unbelievably when she carried Brandon she became so insatiable  he almost volunteered to go scout the ruins of the Wall just to get a good night’s sleep.

 

This baby was taking a toll on her. Sansa had been sick every morning for six months. She awoke one morning to find blood on her shift and he couldn’t calm her down even after the midwife said the babe was fine.

 

A moons turn later Sansa shook him awake before dawn. She asked Sandor kindly to fetch the Maester and midwives and call a maid to clean up the bed were her water just broke. This is his fourth time hearing this news, but he still feels a knot in his gut.

 

Sandor did what he always did, let her squeeze his hand when she had pain, walked her around the castle till she asked to go back, even rubbed her shoulders but still nothing happened. Finally Arya and Rickon’s wife took over and he was pulled away by Gendry. They sat in the great hall drinking dark beer and staring into the hearth. Sandor liked Gendry, he knew when to keep his mouth shut (a skill no doubt learned from having to deal with the she-wolf all day). Tormund and Rickon drifted in with their own mugs. They all sat in silence nursing their beer as castle life buzzed around them.

 

Maester Tarly appeared at the table after a couple of hours to report no change. Sandor took no comfort in the fact that the Maester was wearing clean robes. The only time Maesters changed their robes midday was because they were covered in something no one should see.

 

People drifted by them all day bringing beer that was drunk too fast and food that was left uneaten. Rickon excused himself citing he had things to take care of and Tormund wandered away in search of something stronger. At dinner time, the septa brought his boys in to eat. Sandor declined any food but listened to his sons talk about what they did that day. All three of them were dusty and grimy; they burp and talk about riding and learning to whack other children with wooden swords. Ned and Brandon look like him, black hair and grey eyes. Robb with his red hair and Tulley blues takes after his mother. They are all growing like weeds and there is no doubt they will be built like their father. He hugged them all and kissed their foreheads before they got corralled to bed.

 

 Gendry stayed till long after dinner. Around the hour of the bat, Arya appeared looking tired and pale. She gave Sandor a wane look and kissed his forehead before pulling Gendry away tell him it was time for bed.

 

Sandor, done with the Great Hall made his way back to the room he shared with his wife. Sansa was sweaty and pale in the bed. The midwives looked grave. Maester Tarly tried to reassure him that it won't be much longer, but the man is a horrible liar. Sandor took Sansa’s hand in his and watched her face. Her breath was shallow, her pulse weak, every so often she spasmed in pain. He never imagined she would go first. He held and stroked her hand till the moon was well up in sky.

 

He must have dozed because the next thing he felt was the sharp pain of fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. Sansa was awake, her breathing coming in short ragged gasps, her face was flushed and she eyes were burning and wild.

 

“Oh Gods!” she screamed and a spasm of pain shook her whole body. The midwives snapped to work, Maester Tarly jolted awake with a snort.

 

“You did this to me you fucking arsehole!” she hisses between panting breaths. “I'm going to cut your cock off and feed it to the goats! I'm going to rip your heart out so I can eat it!”

 

Sandor sighed in relief. He's on familiar ground now.

 

Sansa panted and screamed at him till words failed her. She grunted and groaned and the midwives told her to push just one more time till there was a high pitch wailing and everyone relaxed.

 

Sandor rubbed the feeling back into his fingers as they cleaned up the baby and gave it Sansa.

 

“It's a girl!” declared the midwife and he felt his blood run cold.

 

 _Shit_.

 

He forgot to pray this time.

 

Once the midwives leave and the Maester filed out, Sansa gave Sandor his first daughter to hold.

 

She has his eyes but wisps of red hair all over her head. He always thought newborn babies looked like baby rats, but this one is beautiful.

 

Sandor gazed down at his daughter and whispered to her:

 

“I will buy you pretty dresses, jewels and ponies. Just don't tell me you hate me when I kick a fucking idiot boy out of your room.”

 

He paused to make sure Sansa was dozing.

 

“And I won't let her name you something as stupid as Jonquil”

 

Sandor kissed his daughter on her red curls.


End file.
